the water-line, the black cross--a curious feeling of pursuit, as
if, across the water, they in the boat were following us. And,
perhaps because the light varied, sometimes it seemed to drop behind,
as if wearying of the chase, and again, in great leaps, to be
overtaking us, to be almost upon us.

An open boat with a small white light and a black cross on the side.




CHAPTER XIV

FROM THE CROW'S NEST


The night passed without incident, except for one thing that we were
unable to verify. At six bells, during the darkest hour of the night
that precedes the early dawn of summer, Adams, from the crow's-nest,
called down, in a panic, that there was something crawling on all
fours on the deck below him.

Burns, on watch at the companionway, ran forward with his revolver,
and narrowly escaped being brained--Adams at that moment flinging
down a marlinespike that he had carried aloft with him.

I heard the crash and joined Burns, and together we went over the
deck and, both houses. Everything was quiet: the crew in various
attitudes of exhausted sleep, their chests and dittybags around
them; Oleson at the wheel; and Singleton in his jail-room, breathing